A warm breeze brushed through the fields on a summer day. The sun's golden rays kissed the swaying grass and rustling leaves in the trees. In the distance, joyous laughter could be heard. The innocence of harmless play embodied in two small hearts connected in kinship.
“Come, Valt! Over here!”
The boy was beckoned by the girl. Her mischievous smile revealing a taunt, questioning his endurance. “Youuu can't catch meee!”, she exclaimed and made off, challenging Valt to catch up to her.
“Melfia, wait! Mother said not to go too far! Melfia!”
Valt followed her, through the grass and the breeze, past the last of the trees, until at last he sees his sister on her knees. At the edge of a river where grass gave way to sand and pebbles and the flow of water seemed to melt the rock below. He called out to her, but there was no response.
Heart still beating from his pursuit, Valt knelt next to her to rest. “Melfia?”, he asked, still catching his breath. “Melfia, we ought to return home! Mother awaits us! Melfia!”
When his sister turned her head, Valt was not met with the familiar face he knew and loved. Instead, he gazed upon the melted features of something that wasn't Melfia. Not anymore. Valt was paralyzed with fear, Melfia's skin and flesh running down her head, dripping, splashing. Panicked, he looked around - the whole world seemed to begin to liquefy. HE began to liquefy. “Wh-wha-” was all he could mutter before his voice ceased to exist. He felt himself dissolving. All that he was and used to be, merging with the soil until he was subsumed into it, doomed to be forgotten forever.
He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling above. All was perfectly quiet. Only the wind outside made its presence known. “It's that dream again”. He exhaled and sat up, the warmth of the blanket clinging to him like wet clothes on a rainy day. It was almost as if the warmth itself was afraid to dissipate into nonexistence. As everything was, invariably, afraid of losing itself. Valt rubbed his eyes and got dressed. A few bites of meat and vegetables were enough and he was back to planning a safe route to Chorrol where he would look for his lost sister. Judging from the light that hit the blinds it was still early in the morning. Plenty of time.
Valt produced a map of Cyrodiil from his bedroll pouch and unravelled it onto the bed. A small piece of charcoal would be used to mark the path. He struck a match, lit the singular candle in the room and began.
After some time, he was roused from his work by some developing commotion outside. Valt tried to ignore it, but as the sound of fighting got louder and louder, he packed up and rose from the floor. “Ugh. I was done anyway”. Rolling up the tent, provisions and other items, he flung them over his shoulder and stepped out into the dilapidated hallway of the inn.
“Some of the Lost are causing trouble again”, Kegs explained before a question could even be voiced. “Revenants who forgot themselves completely. Wandering oblivions, some call them.”
Valt's armor was light, mostly thick leather dressed in padded cloth. Only the chest and right shoulder had some plating, however thin to allow for ease of travel. His blade had dulled over the years and was in desperate need of replacement. A tool more fit to intimidate beasts who didn't know any better rather than a gleaming sword. Fights, especially this early into the day, were not part of the plan so Valt stuck to peeking out one of the windows of the inn to watch the scene unfold and wait for its conclusion. The Lost were ferocious creatures more so than human or elven in nature in spite of their origins. Their relentless style of attack coupled with an inability to feel, or an indifference to, pain made them dangerous. They were not particularly durable and easily dealt with if their initial assault could be evaded.
Bruma still harbored some skilled swordsmen who had yet to lose their wits. They made short work of the Lost and they crumbled to dust. They would emerge again, somewhere within or outside the city, the next day. But for now the air returned to its cold, quiet stillness. Only the crackling fireplace behind the counter and Kegs’ vigorous glass drying could be heard in the aftermath of the skirmish.
“They will return again tomorrow.” She let out a troubled sigh. “Some good friends are among them. It is mercy that I don't recognize their deteriorated husks anymore. When all this began, things were different. Many of us hesitated to kill them. But now, after so many years, they are as faceless as all the undead are. It's tragic, yes, but I'm glad for it”. Kegs shook her head and hadn't even noticed that she stopped drying the glass. She set it down and looked at Valt.
“Now listen to me rambling! I may not look it but I remember everything. My trick was to get myself killed only once.”
“How did you die? If you don't mind me asking”. Valt was intrigued and sat down on one of the stools in front of the counter. Kegs turned around and produced an unlabeled bottle of amber liquid from the shelf behind her. “This one's on the house”, she said, pouring him a drink.
“When this entire curse business started, all of us felt the change happening inside. I'm sure you did, too. I remember everyone coming outside to meet and talk in the town square. It was a strangely unifying experience. Everyone felt the… shift, let's say. But none knew what it meant.” Valt sipped on his liquor and Kegs poured herself a drink to take a sip for herself before she continued.
“Then a guard from one of the watchtowers started yelling. ‘By the Divines, by the Divines, look, look!’. We all streamed out of the city gates. Being this high up on the Jerall Mountains allowed us to look at the Imperial City without obstruction. We witnessed the fall of the white gold tower and the rise of that accursed tree.”
She took another sip.
“Anyway. My husband was stricken ill at the time and a few days after the tree appeared, he died. We attempted to bury him, but found the nearby graveyard ravaged. The dead had seemingly been dug up! All of them! And, well…”. She braced herself for what came next. “Not far away from the burial grounds we saw confused, shambling forms, half rotten. Some screamed, some cried, some did nothing at all. But worst of all, my husband, he… we wrapped him in a burial cloth closer to Nord tradition. But when we looked, the cloth was flat. His body - gone.”
Kegs finished what was left in her glass in a single motion, hands trembling slightly. She failed at an attempt to suppress a tear that came running down her cheek.
Terribly unsure of what else to say, Valt posed a question to drive the narrative forward.
“So, what did you do?”
“We all ran away screaming, of course. When we got back, we alerted the city guard who promptly assembled a party to investigate. I felt like I needed to lay down after all that so I bid the rest of the townspeople farewell and returned home.”
Valt had nearly finished his drink and Kegs proceeded to pour the two of them another glass.
“When I came home, expecting it to be empty, he was there.”
“Who?”
“My husband. In the flesh. Freshly risen from the dead, only…”. She stopped for a moment, raising the glass to her lips once more. “He was changed. He looked like I do now. Back then, it was frightening. I did not - could not - understand. I remember how afraid I was of him. And something about me or my demeanor or… I don't know. Something must have angered him. His attack came as a surprise. I forgot how exactly I died.”
Valt and Kegs raised their glasses in unison and drank together. Valt raised an eyebrow and asked another question.
“Did you ever think that your husband might have killed you to, I suppose, make you like him? To remove your fear?”
“I don't know. Maybe. But it's too late for that now. He's too far gone. I've locked him in the basement to rot. I… I still love him. It's just…”.
“No, I understand. I'm sorry for your loss.”
Valt produced 20 shards from a pocket and spread them out on the counter. “These are for your trouble. I have to go if I want to reach Chorrol before nightfall. Stay sane.” With these words he got up and left, feeling less troubled by Kegs’ undead form. Kegs had been impressed upon this day and, even though her appearance didn't show it, she felt as if a little humanity had returned to her.
– – – – –
The air was crisp and smelled like freshly fallen snow. Of the things that he could remember, Valt always loved the cool Bruma air growing up. He didn't remember if he grew up around Bruma county or if his family, the name of which also lost to the curse, only had relatives in the area. But it felt like home, which is why Bruma was the town he returned to after a long journey. This time, however, he wasn't sure if he would ever return. Maybe he would, maybe he'd stay in Chorrol. Maybe his travels would guide him elsewhere, out of the province, even.
Valt stepped out of the inn. To his left, the two guards who had just fought off the lost stood there and theorized about whom it was they had just defended against. After a while, even the unique features of a person will fade into obscurity with enough reincarnations. This “revenantism”, as the locals came to call it, often led to the complete dehumanization of an individual. At the very least, this made them easier to kill.
“Somebody broom away that cursedust. Can't have it litter the streets. It's gonna pile up and one day we can't tell it apart from the snow”.
Valt had heard the term before. Cursedust. As far as he knew it was a local term to describe the shimmering grey remains of anyone who died. Bodies will fall apart and turn to dust instantly and some of that dust will linger. As he pondered the cursedust, the other guard had already retrieved a broom-like tool from the inn and got to work on keeping the city clean. Valt nodded to the men, they nodded back, and he was on his way.
The path to Chorrol wasn't particularly long, being the next city southeast of Bruma. Valt could almost see it from Bruma's gates. Only a few trees and ruined structures were blocking direct line of sight. Said structures would pose a significant risk whenever he got closer to them, however. It was not uncommon for the lost or marauding bands of undead to take refuge within or use these as base of operations for their own ends. Old forts, shacks and abandoned-looking outposts were off-limits. Valt couldn't risk death, even knowing he'll come back. There was no telling how much he'd retain of himself whenever it happened.
A look at the map revealed that the presumed safest route to Chorrol would be to stay on the road leading southeast for about half of the way. Several markers he drew on previous excursions showed that a dense patch of forest lay on the road between Bruma and Chorrol, dividing the two counties and climates. Once Valt reached that forest, he needed to be exceedingly more careful. He knew of some abandoned structures around it and the woods by themselves attracted all sorts of hazards, however this was as far as he had gotten to planning out the route to Chorrol before he was interrupted earlier. A decision was made and the adventurer concluded it would be best to move now and worry about that forest once he came close.
The landscape unfolded itself in its full glory once the first steps were taken. A profound sense of déjà-vu manifested itself once the snow gave way to grass and flowers. This scene was… familiar. Valt remembered what it used to be like, travelling on the roads. You would bump into pilgrims, fellow travellers, merchants, Imperial patrols. It was empty now, though. Everyone who held their humanity dear stayed within the cities and small towns that dotted the map. And even these guarded spaces were not fully safe. Old ghosts from the past invariably dwelt everywhere, much like Kegs’ husband and the recurring Lost in Bruma. As far as Valt could tell, every place is like that now. People don't leave their houses anymore. Every inch under the open sky was either devoid of life or populated by the dead and vile horrors.
A sigh of resignation escaped his lips. A thought crossed his mind just then that he contemplated on the road. Was it even worth it? Trying to go on with life, like this? But the alternative wasn't much prettier. That being, locking himself up in a house or a room or a basement and wait for the ages to pass. He heard of people who tried this approach but they all ended up succumbing to madness in the end, even while in full possession of their humanity. Fear drove them underground, madness made them come back up. And by that time, they were already lost.
As far as everyone knew, there was no cure for the curse. Some theorized that the answer to countering it could lie with the tree in the center of the Imperial City, of course. But nobody dared come close to it. Rumors of monstrous creatures and a strange order of knights clad in blue, white and gold made the rounds. The Imperial City had by this point in time long been regarded as the source of the curse. Everyone who was still themselves gave it a wide berth.
Just as Valt was about to imagine what things may lie beyond its gates, he noticed that he almost entered the forest absentmindedly. He took a few steps back and leaned against a tree, looking at the map again. According to it, there was one ruin to the north and two ruins to the south.
“Well, that's bad.”
The presence of ruins in an area was always a problem for travellers. Additionally, there was no telling of what lurked in the forest. Undead fauna was infamously ravenous and posed a serious threat even to seasoned soldiers. The trouble was that Valt couldn't just go around it since it was flanked by ruins on either side. If he circumvented the forest, he'd put himself at risk of encountering anything that might live in the ruins as well as the creatures from the woods. And trying to make an even wider circle around it meant that he won't be able to reach Chorrol before dusk.
He had to brace the woods. Valt stashed the map away and held the hilt of the dull sword in an iron grip. If he could strike anything with enough force, perhaps it might serve as a bludgeoning tool at least. In light of the poor state of equipment he briefly even considered scouring one of the ruins to the south in hopes of finding something better to defend himself with.
“Stupid idea”.
In brighter times, before the curse, an unknown amount of time before, the forests and Plains of Cyrodiil were lush and green, filled with small animals, sunshine, leaves rustling in the wind. None of that remained, save for the leaves on the swaying branches. The sky seemed to be perpetually overcast, grey clouds blocking the golden light from above. The plants mostly died off or shrivelled into starving forms of themselves. The forest was dark and unpredictable. A few creatures made themselves known, scuttling through the dried bushes and dead grass.
Valt looked skyward, into the tree crowns. Covered in webs and arachnids of varying sizes that caught whatever insects bred in the shadows. As he approached the center, signified by a grove amidst the trees, the light barely touched the rotting soil. A stench of moldy, wet wood hung in the air, verdant putrefaction spawned fungal growths to rise from the dead wood. Great, homomimetic fungoids appeared to be rooted to the ground. A slight twitch went through them whenever Valt took a step, the weight of which pushing up some moisture where his feet landed.
The path ahead was lined with the fungoids. Their bodies appeared as if frozen. Their caps were brown and wide, fused to their heads. Moving, quivering ever so slightly with movement upon the soil. The air was thick and moist around them. The further Valt went, the more labored his breath. A sudden onset of vigorous coughing set the fungoids in motion as they twitched violently. Valt tried to quicken his steps but tripped over roots and hyphae embedded in the infested earth. On the ground now, the concerning sound of something soft tearing apart echoed through the grove. Once, twice. Then a couple more times. Then again. And again.
Valt turned on his back in an effort to get up when he witnessed several of the fungal things move about. Irregular movements and a shambling gait painted the silhouettes as particularly detestable. The stumps they had for feet appeared to momentarily root into the ground wherever they landed, uprooting themselves again in the process of locomotion. The noise was sickening.
Since the mushroom people moved very slowly he took the risk and made a dash across the area. Everything fell silent, the fungoids stopped moving, turning their heads towards him. Behind him, a multitude of hurried, heavy steps engaged in pursuit. Valt managed to climb over a few dead trees and disappear out of the grove before the steps got too close. He never looked back and pressed on, seizing his momentum. Ignorance is bliss, for he didn't see the misshapen shadows around him as he ran past. He knew only the path and his speed. Whether it was fate or luck, Valt emerged from the rancor of the woods in one piece and stopped running only once he was out of breath. On his knees, collapsed and exhausted, he paused in the fresh air under the open sky once more. One shy gaze back at the forest's edge revealed nothing but darkness among the tree trunks but he vowed to take a detour if he had to ever pass through it again.
The sky was already beginning to darken. Valt didn't realize just how long he spent in those woods. “There's still time”, he muttered, looking at the map once more to confirm his path. From here, it was just a matter of following the road. No ancient ruins were close enough to pose a serious threat. The chances of running into a stray lost or undead creature were never zero, but the roads were mostly regarded as safe, so long as there was still sunlight, however hidden.
The road ahead curved slightly upward into a small slope downward, putting Valt on a high enough vantage point to view the city of Chorrol from afar. Or its ruins, rather. The watchtowers had all but collapsed, gaping holes in the city walls gave fleeting glimpses of shadowy forms shambling back and forth. With each step toward the ruins, Valt asked himself what he and Melfia had been doing so close to disaster in the first place. He struggled to remember their purpose for coming here. He couldn't even remember what they had been doing prior to separation. The harder he tried to recall past events, the more they seemed to escape his mind.
From what he could see as the city walls came closer, heading into Chorrol was just as dangerous as entering one of the ancient ruins. It seemed as though all of its occupants had joined the Lost. If there were still people in there, they must have been in hiding, away from the mindless horrors that stalked the streets. He couldn't identify any of them as his sister, not from this distance at least. Being out of any other options, all that was left to do was approach Chorrol, hug the outer wall and wait for a convenient moment to slip inside unnoticed.
As night fell, the faint embers that dotted the half-collapsed roofs became apparent lending credence to the presence of smoke. Judging by the warmth on the other side of the wall and the smell of burnt flesh and charred wood, the fire that ravaged Chorrol must've been quite recent. Valt once heard that the quickest way to erase someone's personality is to burn them alive. This is why he feared the fire. A quick glance through a path in the rubble revealed safe passage free from the roaming undead. He snuck inside, hugging the outer wall of a smoking house, and planned his next steps.
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